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Morceaux de fantaisie, Op 3

Introduction

Whilst preparing for a concert at Kharkov (400 miles south of Moscow), Rachmaninov decided to add a group of other pieces (originally three, finally four) to the Prelude, to make a set which Gutheil published in February 1893 as his Opus 3, the Morceaux de Fantaisie. The five pieces were dedicated to Arensky, one of his Conservatory professors. Because of the popularity of the Prelude, the Opus 3 pieces are rarely played as a group. When they are the range and subtlety of Rachmaninov’s compositional genius (even at the age of nineteen) become apparent. The emotional range is wide: from the deep tragedy of the Prelude to the joyous character of the Serenade, and the whimsy of Polichinelle. The subtlety is shown by the fact that a tiny melodic cell—the semitonal fall, or its extension the whole-tone step and their inversions—is heard at the beginning of every one of the five pieces. Whilst it is too much to claim that this gives the pieces a unity of organic strength (of which Rachmaninov was certainly capable), it is fascinating to see how this tiny cell is used again and again in these pieces. In passing, one should note also that this semitonal fall begins the Dies irae, almost the idée fixe in this composer’s mature compositions.

As we know, the Prelude was composed first, so the remaining pieces had to be ‘placed’ around it. One of Rachmaninov’s close friends at that time, the tenor Mikhail Slonov, suggested the title ’Polichinelle’ for what became the fourth piece. As mentioned earlier, it was Rachmaninov’s intention to compose a set of four pieces, but he added a fifth on reading an interview which Tchaikovsky had given to a newspaper critic in November 1892, when he said he felt he had to give younger talents a chance, and mentioned Glazunov, Arensky and Rachmaninov as the most outstanding of the younger school. Rachmaninov was so thrilled; as he said at the time, ‘I sat down at the piano and composed a fifth piece (the Serenade). So now I’ll publish five pieces.’

Rachmaninov premiered the complete Morceaux de Fantaisie in Kharkov on December 27th, and two months later to the day he gave Tchaikovsky one of the first copies of the newly-published set. A week later, Tchaikovsky wrote to Siloti saying how impressed he had been with them, especially the Prelude and the Mélodie. In the event, the Prelude proved a double-edged success. On the one hand, it soon travelled throughout the world (in the 1920s in New York, Rachmaninov heard the Paul Whiteman Band play a jazz version, which he much enjoyed, and had a similar experience in a London restaurant). It spread the fame of the young composer in such a way that by the time he was in his early twenties his name was known to a large international public. On the other hand the very popularity of the work came to curse him later in life, when he became a touring virtuoso: audiences would not let him leave without playing the piece as an encore. Furthermore, in 1893 Russia was not a signatory to any international copyright agreement, so all Rachmaninov ever received for a piece that was played and broadcast millions of times during his life was the forty roubles Gutheil paid for it (he gave two hundred roubles for the five pieces), and the royalties from his subsequent recordings of it. Towards the end of his life Rachmaninov revised three of the five pieces: in 1938 he made a transcription for two pianos of the Prelude, and in 1940 completely revised the Mélodie and Serenade.

Recordings

Anatole Kitain (1903–1980) was an exact contemporary and fellow pupil of Vladimir Horowitz in Kiev, where he studied, as did the slightly older Simon Barere, with Felix Blumenfeld. All three developed fabulous techniques and were romantic pianists ...» More

Jeremy Filsell is one of very few performers to have established a virtuoso concert career as both a pianist and organist on the international stage. This recital album explores Filsell's lifelong love of Rachmaninov's piano music, surveying selec ...» More

This new album—recorded live at The Old Market theatre in Brighton—captures the energy of Rhodes in concert as he performs and entertainingly discusses works by Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Rachmaninov and more in this 85-minute programme.» More

Steven Osborne’s live performances of Rachmaninov’s preludes were greeted ecstatically by critics and audience alike: a new benchmark for performances of these works, and a new departure for this most subtle and sensitive of pianists. Now Steven h ...» More

Steven Osborne’s live performances of Rachmaninov’s preludes were greeted ecstatically by critics and audience alike: a new benchmark for performances of these works, and a new departure for this most subtle and sensitive of pianists. Now Steven h ...» More

Composed in the autumn of 1892 by a proud recipient of the coveted Gold medal from his Moscow Conservatory graduation and of a publishing contract with the firm of Gutheil, the C sharp minor Prelude soon captured the imagination of audiences, especially in Britain and the USA. There it became a more or less compulsory feature—generally as an encore—of every Rachmaninov recital, from his London debut in 1899 until his last appearances in the year of his death. The reasons for its phenomenal popularity are not hard to find. Its Lisztian evocation of bells commands attention, while the pauses and layered textures give time for the ear to savour the overtone mixtures of superimposed chords. This gift for deriving maximum effect from minimum substance (a feature of Rachmaninov’s music that some early critics were quick to castigate) proved irresistible to audiences, many of whom found they could also recreate at least the basic effect on their own piano at home.

Rachmaninov had to live with the fact that he had taken a one-off fee for the C sharp minor Prelude, with no international copyright protection. So its countless arrangements and re-publications brought him no financial reward. Yet even when jazz versions began to appear, he could listen to them with enjoyment. And when a lady admirer sent him a postcard asking whether the piece was meant to describe ‘the agonies of a man having been nailed down in a coffin while still alive’, he chose not to disillusion her. Whatever associations the piece may have had for the composer, it would not be the quintessential Rachmaninov experience it is without the emotional tussle of its more lyrical middle section, cut off in its prime by the return of the ‘bells’, which thereby confirm their role as symbols of Fate.